


Other Petty Griefs

by Eliza



Series: Acquired Taste [13]
Category: Queen of Swords
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-09
Updated: 2002-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/Eliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,<br/>When other petty griefs have done their spite,<br/>But in the onset come: so shall I taste<br/>At first the very worst of fortune's might;<br/>    And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,<br/>    Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so</em><br/>		Shakespeare, Sonnet XC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Petty Griefs

"The Queen!"

The shout from the window brought Luis upright in bed. That bitch was not going to get the chance to ruin his life, to disrupt....

"Luis." The smooth voice at his ear instantly calmed him. The warm hand sliding up from his belly pressed him back to rest against an equally warm, broad chest. Gentle fingers moved over his face, closing his eyes. "Be strong for me, Luis."

A light brush against his right shoulder sent an arc of fire through his body. His eyes flew open in silent agony to stare into deep green ones. Now hovering above him, Robert slowly lowered his head to press his lips to the injury. The heat returned with a different nature. Making sure to meet Luis' eyes between each treatment, the Doctor gave his attention to each of Luis' wounds: the one on his last rib from a duel over bruised pride, the one on his thigh gained during the disastrous battle that had made him a colonel, the one just under his left nipple from a sliver of a mirror thrown by its owner on the day the young lady was told she was to be his betrothed. Robert even found the one that no one knew about: the one on his chin made when he had fallen against his father's desk – the last scar that man had ever given him. Even the icy sting of that old, deep wound eased under Robert's care.

Luis reached for him, tried to draw him down into an embrace only to find himself the one cradled, held secure in strong arms while the world around the bed disappeared into an abyss.

"Don't let me go," Luis pleaded. "I will be lost out there."

"I would never allow that, querido." Yet even as he heard the reassurance, the arms unwound. Robert was moving away, slowly drifting toward the darkest shadow. A shadow in which Luis could see a splash of red, a hint of lace, and from which there came a sound of steel moving in a scabbard. He couldn't watch his world being taken from him -- Luis closed his eyes.

 

The throbbing in his shoulder was echoed by a dull ache in his head, but despite the pain, Luis felt more himself than he had for a long while. He lay with his eyes closed trying to determine where Robert was; he wanted that face to be the first thing he saw. Such a foolishly sentimental thought almost made him laugh aloud, but the sound of Robert's voice strangled the mirth and caused his eyes to pop open.

"You should go now. Before the sentries return."

Luis turned his head, and the Queen of Swords met his gaze for an instant before she slipped out of his room. Robert remained standing between the bed and the window, watching her. There was no reason to think that he was staring wistfully after her; he simply had not been given a reason to turn yet. Luis decided to rectify that situation, shifting onto his side as he called the man's name.

He knew what Robert looked like after he had been kissed. And the puta had been very thorough, if the fit of his breeches were anything to go by. Luis let his gaze linger on the front of Robert's trousers then slowly moved upward to pause on the flushed lips before looking into Robert's eyes. Ah, guilt.

"She came to see you, Luis. To see if--"

"If I were dead? You wasted no effort salving her disappointment, I see." His eyes raked Robert's body again and he noted nothing had changed. "You are dismissed, Doctor."

Guilt turned to patronizing mollification. "Luis--"

"No!" This...discussion was not going to take place while he was flat on his back. Luis kicked the blankets aside, and was relieved to find the sheet still wrapped firmly around him; his decency would be preserved at least even if his pride was going to end up in tatters. While pushing himself up, his left hand slid under the pillow and encountered a familiar piece of security. His right hand seized a handful of the sheet, keeping it from sliding past his ribs. The grip also helped keep his right shoulder still, so there was only a vicious ache to intensify his anger. As he gained his feet, he raised the pistol. He could shoot as well left-handed as right; the pistol's aim was steady.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going to shoot me." Robert's voice and manner were confident, familiar in its impertinence, but he hadn't moved any closer.

"I am well on the way to recovery, Doctor. The fever is gone. I can now see clearly who is my enemy and who is my ally."

"You didn't seem to have difficulty discerning that before you were wounded. Such as the last time we were alone here." With his heated look and trusting step toward Luis, Robert almost succeeded in evoking the feelings that the brief, breathless tumble had brought to the surface. But he made one mistake -- a barely breathed, "Querido," lacerated Luis' heart.

"And you seem to have no difficulty making love to _her_ in this room as well. _This_ room!" Luis tipped the barrel toward the ceiling and hooked his thumb over the hammer. He allowed the weight of the gun to aid in pulling back the heavy spring. The click of the pistol being cocked was tangible in the stillness; the distress on Robert's face almost audible in the silence.

The sound of the door opening broke the tableau. Luis pivoted; the gun moved with him and Sergeant Perez froze at the sight of this greeting. Emilia pushed her way around the soldier blocking the doorway then also stopped short. Her eyes grew huge and Luis could see her chest heaving with her effort not to panic. He must be quite a sight: almost naked -- again -- except for the sheet, one shoulder seeping red, the other hand holding a loaded weapon trained on them. He couldn't seem to lower it; it was as if the sureness of the aim were the only thing holding him  
upright.

Emilia found her voice. "Coronel, I heard arguing.... But the Sergeant.... And I couldn't stop him...."

"That will be all, Emilia," Luis said as if excusing her from dinner service.

"Gracias, Coronel." She pivoted and ran out of the room, likely straight to the kitchen. Word should be spread rapidly that Death had not answered his door today.

"Sergeant Perez, what dire event has occurred that would prompt you to risk barging into my private rooms?"

The Sergeant's eyes never left the barrel of the pistol. "The Queen--" Luis couldn't help the snarl that formed at the sound of that name. Perez swallowed hard. "I mean, the Capitán has regained his senses from his bout of falling sickness, Coronel, and is insisting on getting up. Corporal Cruz said that Doctor Helm ordered the Capitán to stay in bed. I need... to check...."

Although he understood all of the words in this report, Luis couldn't seem to make any sense of it. "Falling sickness?"

Luis felt heat behind him then a warm voice very quiet in his ear. "Caused by the butt of a pistol. Of which judicious application was required to release me from the jail this morning." A hand under his elbow helped support the weight of the gun in his own hand, and slowly began to lower it.

As soon as the movement started it broke the spell, and Luis shook off Robert's touch. But it didn't remove the fairly clear picture of what his captain must have been up to during his incapacitation. "Sergeant, are you capable of preventing this pueblo from dissolving into anarchy?"

The man had sagged in relief at being removed from immediate danger but now snapped back to full attention. "Si, Coronel!"

"Then tell Capitán Grisham that he is confined to his bed -- on my orders -- until the Doctor has proclaimed him fit. I want my capitán to have the best care possible." Perez saluted in acknowledgement. "Dismissed, Sergeant."

As soon as the door had clicked closed, Luis turned back toward Robert. The Doctor had moved a couple of paces away, but nowhere near the distance he had been when in the pistol's site. Noticing that the weapon was still in his hand, Luis gently uncocked it and set it on the bedside table; he ran his finger over the wear-polished wood while he gathered his thoughts. Grisham had been annoyingly predictable, that was obvious. That someone had assaulted his commanding officer was also clear. It would be a shame to have to condemn an action made out of loyalty, but knocking a superior officer over the head was not something he could condone. "Was it Cruz?" Luis asked reluctantly.

"José Esteban." Luis could hear the smile in Robert's voice. "It was Cruz who came up with the story of the falling sickness. Only the handful of men in the jail at the time know what really happened. I think they are all supporting the story."

"It is good to know that there is at least one man in this town with both loyalty and discretion." Luis looked up from the corner of his eye, hoping that the remark would sting, but Robert didn't rise to the taunt. Surprisingly, it seemed to make him sad. Robert's anger he could take -- enjoyed -- but this wounded countenance seemed unworthy of their battle. And worse, Luis felt demeaned for causing it.

"I wonder when Esteban acquired a pair of brass cojones?" Luis asked lightly to change the mood. Dismay at his own penchant for sentimentalism battled with delight at the sight of Robert's quick, wide grin.

"I think he borrowed them from his godmother."

Robert motioned vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, and Luis made the connection. Gracias a Dios _that_ woman was on his side. Distracted by this new information, Luis acknowledged the rap on the door automatically. The formidable Senora entered carrying a tray. "Emilia told me about your surprise visitor, Coronel. I have spoken to the rest of the staff and it will not happen again. You need your rest. And some good beef soup will help you regain your strength."

Luis knew that the food was only an excuse; her concerned look asked what she would not dare say. The disturbing thing was that Luis didn't know what his answer would have been even if he had been inclined to respond. He settled for saying, "I should be able to manage a soup spoon, Senora," while she arranged a table near the far side of the bed. Her efficient manner in dealing with such a mundane chore reminded him of her abilities under extraordinary circumstances. Perhaps.... "Sergeant Perez came to inform me of a particularly vexing matter. I believe that you, Senora, may be able to help me find a solution."

She stopped fussing with the tray and gave him her full attention: her hands folded in front of her, eyes steady on his, her expression cautiously neutral. "I will do my best, Coronel."

"It seems that my capitán has suffered an attack of the falling sickness." Her eyes flicked to the Doctor but returned to his without any other indication of her knowledge of the event. "I would not want this affliction to overtake him on a regular basis. I was hoping that you knew some way to purge him... of these harmful spirits." He held up a hand, silencing the comment that he knew Robert as about to make.

"Oh, si." She almost smiled. "I know just the thing for the Capitán. I will leave Emilia in the kitchen? And Doctor Helm will stay and ... watch over you, Coronel?"

"I am not an invalid!" The extensive throat clearing going on behind him and a conspicuously timed stab of pain in his shoulder reminded him of the past twenty-four hours. So much for kicking the Doctor out on his taut little ass. "Very well. But I do not want the house unduly disturbed while you care for Capitán Grisham. His malady should have eased sufficiently to allow his return to duty in the morning."

"Si, claro."

Senora Santiago curtsied deeply and left with what Luis was certain was a swagger under her skirts. He wished he could see what kind of night Grisham had in store, but his strength was gone. The rush of constructing an apt revenge now left him to his weakness. Both of them. Robert was again at his side, making sure he sat rather than fell onto the bed.

"Harmful spirits, Luis? I can't believe...." Robert straightened suddenly, and stared at the now closed chamber door. "Oh, no. Purge him. She wouldn't.... What am I saying? Of course she would."

Luis finally allowed himself the chuckle that had formed along with the idea. "It is natural that a cook would know a thing or two about digestive trouble." Robert looked down at him, wearing an endearingly mischievous smile. Such innocent mischief. But Luis' common sense kept reminding him that this man was not what he appeared to be, no matter how appealing the outer package was. "Just as it is advisable to go to an old soldier for the care of a wound." Robert's smile took on a wistful air, but he gave no hint of denying the implication.

He had spoken little about the life he had lived before finding his vocation as Santa Elena's doctor, but Luis had drawn a number of inferences based on what he had observed of the man. That Robert had fought against the French was obvious; his eyes often held a look with which Luis was very familiar. But he displayed such a wide range of skills unusual for a doctor and had that annoying tendency to act on his own initiative, that Luis had difficulty seeing him as a simple rank and file soldier or even the company surgeon. His favourite suspicion was that Robert had been an exploring officer, a role which could include anything from scouting the land to assassinations. One of the most common activities of this position was information gathering. Spying. It would explain Robert's excellent Spanish, as well as his gift for acquiring a loyal network of supporters. Could he be using those skills here? Creating the image that was expected -- that was desired -- in order to gain the trust of those around him, to secure his position. His position and his influence. Luis was loathe to suspect Robert of such intentional callousness; could it be that after so much play acting he had simply become careless –- with his body, with his heart, with the hearts of others? And that the Queen and himself had been caught in the same tawdry trap? Luis felt the sudden need for a definitive answer. "Or as one who stayed alive by secrets and lies might, perhaps, have a naturally deceptive heart?"

He expected some sort of avoidance of the topic, or at least his eyes, but Robert held Luis' accusing gaze calmly. "No."

Then Luis found himself lying on his back, blinking, trying to focus on the ceiling above his bed. At least he assumed that is what he was looking at, though his thoughts remained confused until his face was turned to the concerned one beside him.

"Bloody...," Robert cursed absently between gritted teeth as he crawled off the bed. "This foolishness can wait. You are getting back into bed. Now." Robert adjusted the pillows and pulled the sheets back as Luis sat up slowly. "I hate it when you faint. It seems more unnatural  
with you than with most other people."

"An interesting compliment," Luis said as he dragged himself back up onto the pillows.

"It wasn't meant as one." Robert pulled the blankets up, then a small battle seemed to wage briefly behind his eyes. After an uncertain start, Robert did a thorough job of tucking Luis securely into bed. Luis found this unnecessary fussing very entertaining for a change; Robert wasn't as amused. "Don't move. I need to get more hot water to change your dressing. I'll be right back -- don't move!"

As soon as the door closed so did Luis' eyes. Just to rest them. Even though the refuge of the room had been violated, the bed still seemed a safe haven and Luis luxuriated in the peace for a moment. The light seemed wrong when he opened them again, but a movement on the other side of the bed drew his attention from the window. Robert placed a book on the seat of the chair he had just vacated before moving to the side table where medical supplies now shared space with the dinner tray.

"How long...?"

"About an hour," Robert said with that strange little smile curling his lips again. "You didn't even stir when the brazier was being set up." And so it had been, in the place it usually stood on the coldest of winter nights. Robert poured water from a small, steaming kettle into a basin and dropped in some rags. Instead of returning the kettle to the grill over the coals, he placed it on the square of tile on the floor and put the soup bowl over the heat. Then he perched on the bed.

His professionalism was impeccable, as usual, but something indefinable in his manner made Luis wonder what Robert had been thinking about during the past hour. He could have sat on the other side of the bed but instead stretched across Luis' body to reach the injury. His touch seemed to linger. His breath seemed to quicken. Was that a flush rising on his cheek? _You are creating this out of whole cloth, Luis._

Then Robert reached for the hot basin; the look on his face when he turned back roused an echoing memory of whispered words: "Be strong, Luis. Please." Luis nodded in response to the silent plea and did his best as the steaming cloth seared sensitive, abused flesh. For a time the ceiling became the focus of intent study again, though this time the blinking was to clear away the weakness that blurred the fine cracks in the plaster.

"I want to draw out any remaining poison and this should also help prevent a scab from forming too soon again," Robert explained after laying a second poultice to replace the cooled one. This one didn't seem to hurt as badly, or maybe the warm fingers that had slid into his hand gave Luis sufficient distraction. This simple touch provided a comfort that he hadn't thought possible, just as the sound of the soothing voice had earlier when he had first awoken from his delirium. Just as the mere presence of the man somehow seemed to settle something in Luis that he had never noticed was agitated. But it must have been there, for the thought of never being near Robert again set it whirring through his mind like a fly with one wing -- buzzing, spinning, desperate.

He kept his gaze on the ceiling, afraid of what Robert would see in his eyes. To want was one thing, but to need.... He found that he had tightened his hand around Robert's fingers and that the grip was being returned, strength for strength. This is what had started the attraction in the first place, the knowledge that Robert would match him, call him on his attempts at intimidation, stand firm in the face of his threats. Luis could never settle for anything less. But if they were matched in strength, were they also matched in cunning? Could this need become a weapon, and would Robert wield it against him? Surely the doctor was too honourable, and yet... A small, nagging part of Luis couldn't help but wonder.

A light touch on his face drew Luis out of his reverie. The poultice had cooled and Robert was trying to draw his hand away so he could redress the wound. Luis took a deep breath and squeezed the hand before releasing it. Robert let his fingers linger, caressing Luis' palm before  
finally turning his attention back to the injured shoulder. He took a careful look at the poultice before tossing it back in the basin and then inspected the wound itself. "The infection seems to be gone. I think it should heal clean from now on," Robert said and reached for some more bandages from the table. In a short time Luis' shoulder was firmly wrapped in white cotton, the dressing seeming to muffle some of the pain as well.

Robert tidied the room: the basin and the soiled rags were set outside the door, the rest of the supplies returned to his medical bag. He had kept one folded piece of cloth to retrieve the soup from the brazier. A stir and a taste, and Robert narrowed his eyes as he looked from Luis to the bowl and back again.

Luis could read those thoughts as if they were printed on a page. "If Senora Santiago finds out that you pilfered my dinner, nowhere in Nueva Espana will ever be safe enough for you."

"Truer words," Robert laughed as he settled on the bed again. He offered the bowl without the spoon and Luis considered balking at the uncivilized table manners. But the smell of the soup had awakened his appetite and he wasn't in the mood to argue about trifles. Before he could reach for the dish, Robert said, "The bottom of the bowl is hot. Let me hold it."

With only one hand really of any use, Luis accepted the assistance reluctantly, but he guided the rim giving him control of it. The rich broth was subtly seasoned and so very satisfying after his long fast that he finished the lot. He glared over the rim as Robert lowered the bowl, daring any comment on his gluttony.

"Hungry were we?" Robert said, his wide smile taking what little bite there was out of the feeble mockery. "You are likely dehydrated as well, I'm not surprised the soup went down so easily." He pulled the small table close to the edge of the bed. "Do you fancy anything else?"

The Senora had loaded the tray with fruit, cheese, and a variety of her delicious breads, but with the broth now sitting heavy in his stomach, nothing seemed tempting to Luis. At least nothing on the tray. "The soup has satisfied me for the moment, but please, Doctor, help yourself. Or has the Senora been plying you with treats from her kitchen while I've been asleep? It wouldn't surprise me: she seems rather taken with you. You might have been able to get away with stealing my soup."

Robert shrugged, seemingly a little embarrassed as he buttered a piece of one of the fruited buns generously. The pantomimed ecstasy as he chewed the morsel reminded Luis of the usual state of the man's larder. He would have to make sure that Robert knew that there was an open  
invitation to share any of his meals.

"If the meal I had in the jail was any indication of her esteem, I would have to agree." Robert's smile faded into a tight jaw and barely restrained resentment. "It almost made it worth being abandoned to Grisham's tender mercies."

"I have never doubted your ability to deal very effectively with the Capitán. I have seen it for myself, you can... give as good as you get. Showing more favouritism that I already have would have caused much more damage than a few of Grisham's opportunistic jabs." Robert turned away, but Luis grasped his arm, not letting him end this discussion prematurely. "You know this. I made the best choice I could under the circumstances, even to the risk of my own life."

Robert lifted his eyes, his hint of smile equal parts regret and reproach. "You make it easy to forget that you don't rule here by force of will alone." The smile softened as he leaned closer and the kiss was nothing but acceptance. It was simple but lingering, until Robert moved to brush his cheek against Luis' and whisper in his ear. "But at this moment, the power is mine. As your doctor it is my order that you remain here, in this bed, until you are willing to give me _your_ written parole that you are no longer going to rush so eagerly into danger."

What a tempting arrangement! It surprised Luis that such a scenario would appeal so much, for such a parole was of course impossible. He had always been so much a part of the world, yet he could easily allow it to pass by without him if he had Robert to keep him... entertained. It was this enchantment, his unusual reaction to this blatant seduction that set a warning chiming in Luis' head. "Is that the bargain that you sealed so amorously? You would keep me bedridden so that she may wreak havoc in my pueblo unhindered?"

Robert pulled back, sprang from the bed, and paced the length of the room –- his growing anger evident in each stride. On the return, he headed toward the door. Luis was certain that Robert was going to walk through it, never to return; instead he pivoted, furious. "I can't believe it! You're obsessed with the Queen -- I'm the one who should be jealous. Damn it all! I don't care what there is between the two of you, what insane games the two of you are playing. I won't be a pawn in them. I won't. Not anymore."

With a brief flash of guilt quickly replaced by more pleasant sensations, Luis remembered the sight of Robert in the jail cell, first spread out against the bars then furious with the knowledge that Luis wasn't simply going to set him loose. That quicksilver anger had taken on a vengeful tone before Luis had left; a tone in which Luis couldn't help but hear a number of interesting promises. He vowed to revisit that scenario later -- if there was going to be a later for them. "And what about the games you play? Perhaps you have played them so long and so well, Robert, that you have forgotten that sometimes you have to choose sides."

"I have!" Robert took a step closer. "Just because I don't want to see the Queen executed doesn't mean that I've chosen her side, Luis. I don't love her."

_Love?_ "Then why are you so determined to protect her?"

"She asked me the same thing about you."

"And are you going to give me the same answer? Or simply the long, passionate kiss to cloud my mind?"

"I didn't owe her an explanation!" Robert seemed about to turn and start his pacing again but changed tack suddenly, took another step closer, and narrowed his eyes. "My kiss would cloud your mind?"

"It is quite obvious that your very presence clouds my mind," Luis muttered with more than a little rancour. It was now confirmed, he hated having conversations like this while in bed. As he swung his feet onto the floor, he realized that the sheet had loosened and he swore at his lack of night-shirt. It was impossible for one to project any sort of authority or even moral superiority while nude, which is what he'd be if he rose from the bed.

"Quite obvious for you refuse to hear what I keep saying to you." Robert prevented any further movement by dropping to one knee on the floor in front of Luis. "You should be thanking her, you know. She kept dragging me into her insane world. All the running and the fighting and the brushes with death -- it stirred my blood. Yes, you're right about that. It brought me back to life. I was always one for stupid, romantically idealistic quests, you know. But after Spain, the war... all the death around me... I was dead inside when I arrived here. I might have died in the desert, coming here from Texas -- maybe I wanted to, I don't know. I know I didn't care. I'd forgotten what it was like to feel -- to feel much of anything. But don't you understand, now I can feel again, and those feelings seem to be setting me on yet another dangerous quest -- and the danger only makes it harder to resist by the way. They're calling me to yet another hopeless cause -- hopeless because Luis Ramirez Montoya can't get it though his thick skull...."

It was a testament to how much blood Luis had lost in the past few days that he wanted -- so very badly –- to believe every word, but he was far too aware of the value of stirring speeches. What was left unsaid, yet was explicit in the earnest eyes was harder to ignore; Luis held the look, searching for any hint of falseness or guile. The warmth and weight of a hand came to rest on his bare knee, and Robert broke the stare as if startled by his own presumptuous gesture.

This galvanized Luis course of action. It was not the best test of integrity but it would be by far the most enjoyable. He threaded the fingers of his good hand through the dark hair then made a fist in it. It was easy to tilt the stunned face to his. Luis moved in close, stopping a hands breath away, holding the deep green eyes locked on his. "Prove it," he whispered.


End file.
